Orange or Pink
I’ll never tire of receiving little floral gifts from my kids. The oft-smelly weeds they thought were flowers are always my favorites, though I also love it when they give more purposely grown petal-perfect finds.
And while I’m sure the planter did not intend for us to pluck from his gardens, no one can deny how heartwarming the sentiment of giving something pretty to someone is – - especially without prompting and without obligation.
The only treasures I shy away from are those that have hidden guests inside them – tiny insects waiting to reveal themselves (often after I’ve set a flower behind my ear).
Twenty-one four year olds, two teachers and five parents climbed out of the hay-filled wagon and marched excitedly into the pumpkin patch. Their feet caught on the running vines connecting the sinewy remains of orange splendor that had seen better days. Some struggled to stay upright, others fell as their feet were hopelessly entangled. Their eyes searched each rotund fruit, feet prodded the pumpkins to turn, and the hunt continued as time after time it became clear that bugs had been the first to find the prize. Yuck! Finally, one perfect pumpkin was found. Then another, then another. But the picking was sparse and the crowds of hunters grew larger. She claimed this beauty by darting around Ya, who pouted and whined, “I was supposed to get that one!” before moving away to pursue a larger find.
View from the Top
This just makes me happy… there’s no other explanation. Complete abandon, absolute joy, total freedom.
This picture probably doesn’t scream “cozy” – there’s a bit of aggression in this moment, I suppose. And yet, I cherish what it shows about the bond my kids have developed.
I don’t know how much longer I’ll get to enjoy moments like this one between Ya and Chi. Growing up seems to hinder random acts (or attacts) of affection.
I hope they’ll always know there’s nothing wrong with hugging, or even the occassional kiss.
I still enjoy holding my mom’s hand when we go out shopping. Still savor the seconds of a hug from my father or brothers. And I welcome the timid goodnight pat on the back from my quickly maturing teenager who still isn’t quite certain how much is too much with this blended-family thing.
The kernels are packed tightly together. The colors of fall reflect in each stacked cob. Maize sure is a fascinating plant.